


oh, oleander

by notthelasttime



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (canon typical), Assassination Plot(s), Denial of Feelings, F/M, Gardens & Gardening, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, In Love with the Mark, Rating May Change, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28944153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthelasttime/pseuds/notthelasttime
Summary: This was what he knew:The Countess Bernadetta von Varley was worth more dead than alive.But only if it looked like an accident.
Relationships: Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	oh, oleander

The Countess von Varley was taking tea in the garden the first time Yuri saw her, completely by accident and catching him very much by surprise. Had he known she was there, he may have done things differently, treading lightly or observing for a while in all the unobtrusive ways he’d come to learn over the years. A ghost in the yard, unseen except by all the windows of eyes stacked row by row in the dark manor that towered over them, always watching. He might have assumed it was the Countess herself staring him down from there, a known recluse to the point of being unrecognizable by appearances. Some other noble in some other house might have had the garden cleared out, the groundskeepers sent away so that they might enjoy the day in peace. Instead the Countess had ventured out in secret to the round iron table, under a trellis set with hanging lanterns and creeping vines. A small escape. A pocket of floral privacy- or would-be privacy, had Yuri not trampled in.

He might not have even noticed her, but Yuri found the Countess von Varley was both easily startled and possessed an impressive set of vocal cords. When she could be bothered to use them.

She shrieked. Nearly jumped out of her skin in a way that made tea spill out from the cup she had been sipping from, sloshing over the rim and splattering onto her thighs, pale white skin burning pink from the heat. Yuri dropped the shears he’d been holding before dropping to his knees himself, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. 

It wouldn’t do much good. There was dirt on his hands, sweat on his back. No embroidered handkerchiefs here, bleached white, washed clean, smelling of roses, used to blot clean a young lady's face when some gentleman made her cry. He was a common boy with common sensibilities, but Yuri couldn’t help acting on instinct sometimes, quick to help clean up the mess he had caused, wiping tea from the Countess’s legs. Her very pale, very bare legs. 

He stopped long enough to realize the Countess had gone very still, and when he looked up at her, she was staring him down, wide-eyed and startled, like the rabbits they sometimes happened upon in the yard on early mornings. Tiny and trembling, waiting for prey to attack. 

“Apologies,” Yuri said, eyes down, and saw his hands were still on her thighs and so he snatched them away. Commoners had been beaten for less. _He’d_ been beaten for less, for misunderstandings and poor timing. For good intentions that ended terribly. For spilled tea and burnt skin, nevermind his wandering hands and the hem of her skirt creeping up high while she sat. It was embroidered, Yuri noticed, to a nearly maddening degree, from the seams and up her dress, covered in miniscule creeping designs so very much like the vines that surrounded her, and Yuri had to pity the poor fool of a maid that was tasked with such work. To make her mistress pretty down to the last threat, to poke and bleed her fingers raw in the process for artistry that would never be seen, much less appreciated. A thankless waste of time. 

The Countess stood up. Quick enough to knock the chair over behind her, sending it crashing to the ground while she dropped the teacup back onto its plate, spilling more in the hurried process. Tea on the plate, tea on the table, tea spilling onto her hands. And she was gone. Sprinting back towards the house, missing the dignity a noblewoman should. Yuri stared after her, even once she’d disappeared again, back beyond the walls of the manor, safe inside where Yuri couldn’t touch her. No one could. 

He smelled fruit. Wafting up from the teacup, the deep bruised brown color of albinian berries. Unsalvageable now, spilled and cooling in a mess on the garden table. 

A waste of perfectly good tea.

* * *

This was what he knew:

The Countess Bernadetta von Varley was worth more dead than alive. 

Tight lipped clients were nothing new, but Yuri knew better than to take any job that found its way to him, no matter the price attached. And this price was very, _very_ much worth his while. 

He had a name, he had instructions, but the why and how were left for Yuri to find out on his own. Not such a hard task for someone with his connections, first through a well curated expanse of underworld connections, and later through innocent curiosity, harmless questions asked by Yuri, the new gardener, only wondering why he never saw the von Varleys themselves outside enjoying all of their tireless work. 

Her mother was dead. Once the former Countess was a standard face in the Capital, seen more often in Enbarr than in her own territory, with her husband. The Nobles of the Empire had always been so good at starting squabbles amongst themselves, so easy to rile up, turn on their own, think they knew better than the Emperor. There was no telling which side the former Countess had taken, if she was part of the uprising, or only in the wrong place and the wrong time, but it didn’t matter much when either way she wound up dead. She didn’t have much of a legacy to pass on, just a title for her daughter and a widowed husband that was already exercising too much control. 

Bernadetta was never allowed far from his sight. Bernadetta hid from her governess, didn’t like to go outside, never played with other children, or met with men and suitors as soon as she turned of age. Bernadetta was a countess, caught in some silent war that no one on the outside was privy to, they just heard one rumor after the next of proposals and marriages, lined up and falling through one by one. 

And then her father, the Count, had taken ill, and that was just as hushed and obscured as everything else within the family. No known cause or explanation, no official passing on of power from father to daughter, even as everything under the Varley title was left in Bernadetta’s care. He was bedridden, on the first floor of the estate, in some dark room with curtains drawn and the only ones seen going in and out were the healers that kept him round the clock company for years.

 _Maybe now she’ll marry_ , so the rumors went, _a nice husband to take care of her and Varley affairs, Goddess knows that girl doesn’t know what she’s doing, can’t even be bothered to leave her room_. But Bernadetta did not marry. Did not entertain the thought. Did not enjoy balls with other Nobles, kept no correspondence, saw no visitors to that massive estate she called home. Cut off and untouchable in so many ways. Her balcony, in a corner room of a high tower, always unoccupied, always dark, always watching over the garden below. The only way to get to her, to climb the walls and shatter windows and break in. Instead of luring the little bird from her cage, one would have to join her inside, and so often the bars that kept animals in cages did as good of a job keeping everything else out as well.

There had been an attempt on her life before.

Once, when little Bernadetta was just a girl, and the only crest bearing daughter of the family. The last branch of her line, sitting on precarious vulnerability until she managed to grow up and produce an heir of her own. Someone clever thought they’d save her the trouble, sending assassins in the night to throttle that final loose thread. But they failed and made a botched job of it, ruining everything in the process. The Varley Estate locked down, an already over-protected daughter ceased to see the light of day. 

In the aftermath she’d been taken to Enbarr with her mother, maybe in some wild hope that influential allies might sway future attempts. Or to keep her away from the purge that followed, the Varley manor turned inside out, searched and scoured for more sources of schemes, every maid and servant questioned and tested for loyalty. Or so the other servants said, muttering the past scandals to Yuri as they went about their work. The Count was a Dictator, they said. He didn’t trust anyone, they said, a newfound iron grip on his territory, and a surge over possessiveness for his daughter had him calling her back from the Capitol. But this was not before the future Emperor had taken interest. Heard the story and knew of the schemes. Should Bernadetta von Varley fall to an assassination now, the Emperor herself would swop down on those lands and sniff out the treachery. There would be no easy inheritance of lands and wealth, no passing the Varley fortune from one Noble hand to the next.

The Countess was worth more dead than alive, but only if it looked like an accident. 

* * *

They kept a greenhouse on the property, all twisted iron embellishing glass panes. The Varley lands new temperate climates, but this was a space for the obscure and delicate, plants from far away places that needed more care in their cultivation. 

It was hot inside, and humid, so Yuri worked with no jacket on, with his shirtsleeves rolled up, running through a list of things to do in his mind. Fertilize, water, prune. Sweep the dead leaves off the stone paths inside, see if the fruit trees were blooming yet, check if any of the Sundews had started to sprout. 

Names and species he hadn’t seen or known before lined the dirt in this place and filled every pot and empty corner. Plants from Dagda and Brigid, seeds and sprigs sent in by special couriers, tropical curiosities that, according to the head groundskeeper, Leo, had been requested by the Countess herself. Yuri had his doubts. And Yuri kept his mouth shut and head down and did what he was told, lest he lose his foothold to the manor, free reign to walk on the grounds, to be welcomed inside from the outer wall. 

A fly buzzed past his shoulder, fat and slow, hovering for a moment before landing on a broad leaf. 

Yuri was being watched. 

He kept on what he was doing. The Hibiscus by him had seen better days, flowers wilting and leaves turning yellow. Too much water. He went to work, clipping off dead weight to let the plant put energy into growing what was worth growing. There was a movement from the corner of his eye, a prickle on the back of his neck. Slowly, Yuri tilted his head, keeping his hands busy and playing at being preoccupied. There was nothing in the periphery of his vision. He tilted again, and then he thought he saw something move, but the fly chose that moment to start buzzing around his head again. A small nuisance. Not worth waving away, distracting as it was. 

He had a feeling he knew who was watching and he had a good idea it was best to move slow. Fragments of a song caught in his head and Yuri, prone to sweet talking charm to get his way, far more used to looking appealing to draw someone in, did not need to second guess what his instincts said.

 _Cradle me where Southern skies_ _  
_ _Can watch me with a million eyes_ _  
_ _Sing me to sleep…_

Yuri hummed, and he worked. His silent watcher kept watching. 

The fly dipped low, drawn in by the rich purple of a butterwort, precarious flower on a delicate stem, sprouting straight up from a burst of leaves on the ground. Body heavy and wings tired, the fly went to land again, this time on the butterwort. All too late it realized the trap, sticky leaves trapping skinny insect legs, frantic buzzing wings not strong enough to pull the fly free. Another victim drawn in by a little harmless looking flower, amusing Yuri as he continued to hum. The feeling eyes stayed on the back of his head, an observer that kept him company in the greenhouse until he was done. 

* * *

The first time Yuri spoke to Countess Bernadetta von Varley, she was the one to make the approach. 

He and Willem had been digging up a patch of land near the house, disposing of some poor wretched bushes that had succumbed to one fungus or bug or another, leaving nothing but bone twists of bare branches, an ugly eyesore in the otherwise lush yard. 

The morning was spent digging and excavating a long line of dead roots, deep into the ground. Like a cancer, they had to be sure to extract it all, lest the bushes start growing back with whatever parasite had taken them over, passing it on to the next. The wind changed in early afternoon, rolling in heavy clouds and a drop in the temperature like a cool kiss of water on parched lips. 

“I need a break,” Willem told him, hair plastered on his neck and forehead, face still red from the exertion of hauling over the new plants, budding flowers and fresh growth on the tip of every branch. A clear sign they’d soon fill out the dead space given a little care and a short time to grow.

“Fine,” Yuri said, “Just don’t let Leo catch you slacking off.” He was talking to Willem’s back, which gave him no acknowledgement, but Yuri let him go. He didn’t mind working alone. And he didn’t tire quite as quickly as some of the other men. Men with soft hands and weak arms that hadn’t spent much time in the sun. Jobs were jobs. Whether they were looking handsome and singing pretty for nobles or sticking boots in the mud. Yuri didn’t get to where he was shying away from work that wasn’t clean.

She was watching him again. 

Behind some of the elm trees that offered a respite of shade. She’d been there most of the morning, Willem none the wiser and Yuri playing dumb. The Countess had been following him. Not just in the greenhouse, but now elsewhere too. Not every day. Not even every week, and he barely caught more than a glimpse of her at a time, and that was only when she was sloppy, but he could feel her there in his hindbrain. Watching. Waiting, much like Yuri had been waiting himself for the right time to turn around and ask what exactly she was doing without risk of scaring her off.

He wiped his forehead on his sleeve and let the wind dry the rest. Took a breath and began the final task of getting new growth packed and sturdy in the ground.

“W-what are you planting?”

Yuri froze. Not from fear, not even from surprise that he’d been snuck up on, the shock of it fading as quick as it took the gears in his mind to start grinding, wondering how to take a step forward without taking a step back. 

Bernadetta had been quiet. And careful.

She was standing a full six feet away from him still, hands held tight together, wind picking up her hair and the hem of her summer dress. Lightweight fabric in dark colors. Yuri wondered why one of her ladies in waiting never told her blue and purple and black were for winter and fall. Pink and yellow were for spring. White and pale green. Pastels and flowers or ribbons in her hair, off at some tea party laughing at a Nobleman’s joke while they shared a slice of cake.

“Oleander,” Yuri said. Another Countess and he might have bowed, or introduced himself, excused his reticence when he hadn’t heard her approach. This was no ordinary Countess. Yuri was no ordinary gardener. “They should bloom soon enough. They’ll give you something prettier to watch than someone digging in the dirt.”

She blushed, and looked like every bit of self preservation was telling her to run, like some part of her knew Yuri was the snake in the grass, with his teasing words and forked tongue. But the Countess stood her ground, for as meek and mild as her stance was, looking at Yuri still holding his shovel and looking back at her. 

“Oleander is poisonous,” she said, finally. A secret she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Yes,” Yuri said, shifting cats grin on his face, sweet as a honeypot should be, “yes it is.”

She scurried back inside after that, without giving Yuri a word of goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics in this chapter come from Lullaby of the Leaves


End file.
